


Monstrous Regiment

by micehell



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU (Marie gets the baby and the regency after all), Adventure, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It will amuse me if anyone ever guesses which one, M/M, Multi, OCs though none of them will be major roles, Oddly enough this is loooosely based on a 80s tv show, Though there is no onscreen rape there is the idea that it might have happened so be warned for that, it's unlikely there will be onscreen romance but the idea of fwb (same sex fwb as well) is there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd always teased Aramis about having an army of women, but that was before... before Marie had proclaimed Henri the rightful king and herself his regent, before Treville and Richelieu had smuggled Louis out of the country, before Athos and the others had gotten caught while providing a distraction, and before they'd then escaped from the Chateley. No one teased about that army now, not when they were eyes and ears, providers of funds and provender, and, best of all, the ones that gave them cover from Herself's ever-watching Guards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monstrous Regiment

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Even though the titles and subtitles are definitely referencing Knox, except for a little dig this doesn't really have anything to do with him, nor the women he was decrying (and I'm certainly not decrying women in power myself), but since I've already changed history by having Louis deposed by his mother here (ep 6 obviously didn't end as happily in this au), I guess no one's going to quibble over me stealing his lines for my own purposes. ;)  
> 2\. The original idea for this really did spring out a 80s TV show, and it really would amuse me if someone were to guess which one (bonus hint: it was Porthos and Aramis that originally made my mind go there *snork*).  
> 3\. This is going up in parts, but certainly don't feel you have to comment to get me to write/post the next part. My writing it in chapters is just for me and my schedule. So if you actually like the story, you don't have to worry that I'll drop it because I get a low kudo/comment number (I belong to some very tiny fandoms, so I'm much used to that!). That's not to say don't comment if you feel like it, 'cause that's always awesome, just don't feel obligated by any means.

1\. The First Blast

Aramis leaned up against the rough wood of the public room's counter, pressed closely against Carole's soft, plump cheek and breathed in. She smelled of lye and lavender from the soap she and her maid had been doing the washing with, a tinge of sweat mixed in from the effort she'd put in on the inn's sheets. The care she took with things like that was one of the things that made the inn popular (though Porthos always insisted it was her _pain bis_ that was the real winner). It was that popularity, that constant flow of travelers (or rather that constant flow of the latest news), that was the reason they always stopped here on their way through, regardless of their need for discretion... well, that and the _pain bis_ , because even Athos had noticed how good it was and it wasn't like he usually bothered to taste what they coaxed him into eating. 

Carole pushed him back with still damp hands, but not too far, the smile that curved her lips knowing but pleased all the same. Aramis thought the smile would taste as good as her bread if she'd just let him closer, but he shrugged philosophically; she knew him too well to give him what he would never stay for, and she liked him too much to resist temptation completely. Women like that were some of his favorite kind, right up there with the women who didn't resist temptation at all and the women that slapped him when he offered it.

Looking around at the crowd in the public room, she frowned for a moment, but then shrugged herself. She was the one who leaned closer this time, her breath tickling across his ear when she said, “Might as well do this here. All this noise will cover whatever we say, and if I take you to a private room, someone will for sure note it. After Etienne went haring off to Paris to lodge a complaint about the liberties the Guard tends to take when they come through... well, it just brought my idiot brother and this inn both to Herself's notice, and I'd like to keep things as obvious as possible so that no one else ends up in the Chatelet because of _suspicious_ behavior.”

She almost hissed the emphasis on _suspicious_ , a wealth of disgust in it, which Aramis could sympathize with down to his bones, well aware of the consequence of both Herself's notice and suspicious behavior (not that it had ever stopped him from engaging in it). And since he certainly didn't want Carole in any trouble (for her own sake, let alone the help she provided them with), he was more than willing to go along with her. 

So Aramis nodded his understanding, using the motion to brush against her cheek again. If they were going to sell this as 'innkeeper flirts with handsome stranger', he might as well play his part well. She slapped him on the chest for it, but lightly, not exactly unhappy about playing along with the deception.

“As it is, I don't have much to report anyway. Maybe it was what happened to Etienne or maybe their attention is just elsewhere right now, but there was only one troop of Guards through here this month, and they were only on their way to Le Havre to pick up some fool of an Englishman making noise about how evil it was to have a woman for a ruler or some such muck.” Carole shook her head at the idiocy of foreigners (or perhaps the idiocy of people who thought Marie's regency was evil because she was a _woman_ ).

Before Aramis could reply, one of her hostlers came into the room, looking worried, but Carole waved him off. She ran the inn well, took great care of her staff as well as her guests, but everyone who worked for her knew better than to interrupt her when she didn't want to be interrupted; forty years of life, and twenty of it spent running her father's inn, had taught her how to fend off drunks, how to fend off men who thought her an easy mark, and how to glare quite balefully at staff that could damn well handle things themselves if they put their mind to it. 

Aramis waited until the unfortunate man had scurried away, properly chastised, but then he couldn't resist darting in to give her a quick peck on the cheek. Etienne, drunk and particularly indiscreet while being so, had once told Aramis that he was barking up the wrong tree flirting with Carole, thinking his sister hadn't ever married because she didn't like men in that way. However, drunk or sober, Aramis wasn't the idiot her brother was, knowing full well that she liked men quite fine; it was just their lies and their highhanded ways she couldn't take. But the kiss, small as it was, wasn't a lie in the least, his love of women (especially women who didn't always bother to hide their strength behind a soft facade) wanting just that small taste even if he couldn't have anything more. Carole, shining in that moment as all women were when they faced someone who liked _them_ (not their breasts, or their sex, or the money their inn brought in, let alone their _pain bis_ ), put a finger to his lips, not warning him off but rather letting herself touch.

He could see the moment when she packed the woman she sometimes wanted to be away, amused rather than wistful, and he grinned with her. “We'd already heard about the idiot Englishman when Porthos and d'Artagnan scouted back through Rouen.” Those two had shaken their heads over the idiocy of foreigners as well. “I have to admit, though, that there doesn't seem to be anything in the news for us. We can't save everyone from Marie's, shall we say, less than graceful sense of humor, especially not after she's already got them in prison. Our resources... well, you know what they are.”

She nodded, forgetting the charade they were playing enough that she frowned. She might think her brother an idiot, but she hated not being able to save him. Even so, it was Carole herself who'd told Constance to hold off on anyone making the attempt, knowing that it was unlikely to succeed. And knowing what it would cost them to even try. 

Aramis felt himself start to frown, as well, memories trying to replace the noisy public room around him, and he struggled to stop it. No one seemed to be watching, but you could never be sure. Carole's frown might be explained away by him being too bold in his flirting, but if both of them looked solemn and frightened (if both of them showed how solemn and frightened they actually were), that was the kind of thing people might note, and that they couldn't afford. He pulled it off, all those years he'd spent coping with what happened in Savoy having given him a lot of practice in smiling even when he sometimes felt like screaming instead. He doubted he looked _happy_ , but it would have to do, especially with Carole now looking at him speculatively, as if reconsidering asking them to try. 

But he and the others hadn't even been near the Chatelet since they'd escaped themselves. A fair number of times before Etienne had been foolish enough to pretty much volunteer himself for a stay in the jail, there'd been others kept there that they'd wanted to get out, and yet they'd somehow always managed to get lucky enough to never actually have to try it. Lucky enough not to find out if they would have actually done so if necessary, either.

If Aramis were being perfectly honest with himself, an uncomfortable proposition at best, he'd admit that he wasn't sure they could have done it. Just being next to Carole with the thought of it playing in her head was enough to make him anxious, and Aramis was the one who'd taken the least damage while they were there. As it was, it was going to take a woman far more willing than Carole before he'd feel totally right in his own skin again... how many would it take to make going back seem anywhere near a good idea? 

Now Porthos might be foolishly brave enough to give it a try, might even be foolishly reckless enough to risk it, but would he (or Athos or Aramis, for that matter) be cruel enough to ask d'Artagnan to do it? Aramis might, if he thought they had no choice. Porthos _might_ if he thought _d'Artagnan_ had no choice. But Athos... Athos was the one who'd had to see all of them every day, the Guard taking him on a tour of their personal hells just to rub the guilt in that much more. Aramis didn't know, with all that Athos had had to see, if he could ask _any_ of them, let alone d'Artagnan, to go back again. 

But luck was still with them, Carole's face clearing, impossible requests shelved away. She let the flirtation slowly fall away as well, pasting on a rueful smile for the people around them, as if to say _There's work to be done, no time to dally, even as fun as it was_. To Aramis she said, “All things considered, it probably shouldn't be you who comes by next month. Porthos and d'Artagnan would probably stand out too much, so have Athos do it. Or one of Ninon's girls can come by and pass anything I have along to you. Though I see no reason to change using Constance as the emergency contact, unless you think we should.”

Aramis almost laughed at her putting that last bit up to him after having slipped back into the command mode she used for work, but he just shook his head, adding a touch of _regret at opportunities lost_ to his smile for any audience they might have, and then took his leave. 

He found the others in a small, mostly hidden room at the back of the inn, not often used because it was more a converted shed than a room, which is where he'd left them, nothing having changed in the time he was gone. Even so, Aramis couldn't help but touch each of them, a talisman he knew he shouldn't need, but couldn't help: Athos' left hand with the teeth mark scars from where he'd literally shoved his hand down one of the Guard's mouths to keep him calling out when they were escaping. Porthos' chest, the edge of the crude fleur de lis one of the assholes had carved into it barely peeking out beneath his shirt. And d'Artagnan's face, looking as it always had with his gently sarcastic smile, with the rakish little scar that Gaudet had given him, none of the real damage visible on the surface.

The little tug of restlessness that Aramis always felt when the others weren't nearby fell quiet, sleeping until next time. Feeling lighter without it, and inveterate storyteller that he was, Aramis launched into a _slightly_ embellished account about the idiot Englishmen (which they shook their heads at yet again), the proper way to flirt when you have an audience, and why Athos was going to have to learn how to do it himself, filling the room so that nothing about the Chatelet could make its way in.

They left early the next morning before most of the other guests were up, the need for discretion stronger than their need to sleep in (though even Aramis would admit that it was a close call with him). They had work to do and little time to do it in, as well: contacts they needed to visit, people that needed their help, and a king in exile that regretted not killing his mother when he'd had the chance, something they wouldn't mind amending for him even if it weren't their duty.


End file.
